Pernottamento
by arw8928
Summary: After learning about them from France, Italy arranges a sleepover between the Axis and the Allies. Eventual GerIta. Implied FrUK and Ameripan, if you look closely. {Credit for original image used for cover in my profile}
1. 1 Invitations

AN: Aaaaaand I'm back! This is my first Hetalia fic, and also my first multi-chapter fic. Sorry for the semi-foul language, I wouldn't usually use it, but I just really don't think you can write England fully in-character without a bit of it. Also, for those curious, the title, Pernottamento, is Italian for "overnight stay." Enjoy!

"Germany! Germany! Germany!" Italy yelled cheerfully as he bounded into Germany's office.

"Yes, Italy, what now?" he said, not even looking up from the mounds of paperwork overtaking his desk.

Italy bent over in front of Germany's desk, resting both elbows on the wooden surface, and then resting his chin in his hands, so his face was level with Germany's.

Germany finally looked up to glare at him, but his gaze immediately softened when he saw how adorable Italy looked in that position. He then mentally scolded himself for thinking such a thing as he felt a warm blush rising to his cheeks. Italy didn't seem to notice, though, and he continues to speak in the omnipresent cheerful tone of voice that made it very difficult for Germany to be annoyed with him, no matter how much work he had piling up.

"Do you know what a sleepover is, Germany?"

Germany hesitated before answering, momentarily taken aback by such an odd question.

"Um… yes, I am… aware of the concept…"

Italy looked at Germany with his big, round, curious eyes, and Germany realized that he was waiting for an explanation.

"Uh, well, a… um, a sleepover is where you… sleep... over at someone else's home… or you invite someone to sleep over at your home," Germany explained awkwardly.

Italy furrowed his brow. Germany bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling, his already flushed cheeks gaining even more color. God, he is so cute.

"What's the matter?" Germany questioned, referring to the confused look still present on Italy's face.

"That's not exactly how Big Brother France described sleepovers to me…"

Germany eyes went wide. He would bet he knew exactly how France had described a sleepover to Italy.

"Just… disregard France…" Germany said, cringing as images flooded his mind of exactly what kind of things France had poured up the Italy's naïve mind.

Italy thought for a moment and then nodded with a smile, as if to acknowledge his dropping of France's comments, and with that, Italy bounced happily out of the room.

Germany sat in stunned silence, staring at the door Italy had just run out of. He couldn't imagine why Italy had asked him such a strange, out-of-the-blue question, but he quickly disregarded it with a shake of his head and went back to his work.

Germany closed his eyes and sighed with exasperation, "Italy, when I said I was aware of what a sleepover was, that didn't mean I wanted to have one."

Italy and Germany, along with Japan, America, Britain, and France sat cross-legged on the floor of Germany's house in a circle. Italy's eyes were wide- well, wider than usual with excitement, and he was beaming proudly as though this party was the strategy that would win the war. The other nations, however, did not display the same level of enthusiasm.

"Why the bloody hell are we here?" Britain said, rubbing his temples.

"It's a sleepover, Britain!" Italy replied cheerfully, "Big Brother France explained them to me!"

Britain look up to glare at France with his "I'll get you for this later" face.

"What can I say, mon ami, how could I pass up the opportunity to sleep so near so many other people? From experience, as the distance from others decreases, the amount of sleeping decreases as well," France said with a wink toward Britain, who was sitting next to him.

Britain sputtered and stumbled over his words, "W-what are you implying, y-you wanker…!?"

France didn't reply, only gave him a mischievous grin that left Britain with a light blush in his cheeks.

"I think this will be a wonderful opportunity to blend our cultures and get to know each other in a deeper way," Japan stated.

"Looks like Britain wants to get to know France in a deeper way," America said to his older brother with an over-exaggerated wink. Britain did not reply, only gave America a harsh glare that didn't seem to affect the younger nation in the slightest.

"But anyway," America continued, "what are we doing tonight? Prank calls? Binging on food until we drive ourselves into carb-induced comas? Harmless experimentation with homosexuality?" he looked over at France and Britain with his last suggestion, obviously still hung up on them. France smirked and gave a small laugh; Britain blinked a few times as his cheeks flushed an even deeper pink and tried to nonchalantly lean away from France.

Italy produced a folded piece of paper from one of his pockets and opened it.

"What… is that?" Germany asked, and, while he had no idea what the answer would be, he didn't think he was going to like it.

"I did some research, and I found this list of things you're supposed to do at a sleepover!"

"Please tell me France did not provide you with that list, Italy."

"Oh, believe me, my list would have taken a few more pages than that…" France chimed in.

Italy enthusiastically shoved his list into Germany's hands. Germany took it and began to read the list of activities. His horror increased with each bullet point.

• Baking

• Prank Calls

• Scary Movies

• "Share Circle"

• Truth or Dare

Germany stared at the paper with a terrified look on his face. Britain gestured from the paper and Germany gave it to him.

Britain quickly read over the list and soon grew to have the same horrified expression painted on his face as Germany had, "We're seriously going to do all of these things!?"

"And perhaps a few more as the night wears on," France stated, suggestively glancing towards Britain once again out of the corner of his eye. America stifled a laugh.

"Yes! Don't they sound fun?" Italy said, nothing able to kill his enthusiasm.

"I, for one, am mildly excited," said Japan, who had taken the list from Britain, "I have had my share of experiences with baking, but I have rarely experienced the other activities on this list."

America took the paper from Japan and looked down the list, "Dude, this sounds totally awesome! I do these things all the time, even when I'm alone! This is gonna rock!"

America shoved the paper toward France, and he gave a small laugh and a smirk before handing the list back to Italy.

Germany sighed, "So when are we starti-"

"Right now!" Italy said as he uncrossed his legs and jumped up in one swift movement. He ran into Germany's kitchen, and the rest of the nations were left looking at each other on the floor. Japan glanced towards the kitchen, and slowly got up to follow Italy. One by one, the other nations followed, until Germany was the only one left on the floor.

"Verdammt, Italy," he muttered under his breath as he stood up awkwardly and followed the rest of the group into the kitchen.


	2. 2 Baking

"What exactly are we baking, Italy?" Japan asked as Italy bustled around Germany's kitchen, collecting various ingredients.

Italy held up a handwritten recipe book inches from Japan's face. Japan took Italy's wrist and moved it back a bit so it was at a reasonable distance for reading, "Italian Anise cookies…" he read from the top of the page.

"Yeah! Fratello used to make them all the time!" Italy said, taking back the recipe book. He tried in vain to prop it up against Germany's bread box next to the oven.

Germany blinked as he registered what Italy had said, "Your brother… cooks?" he said with raised eyebrows.

"Of course!" Italy replied, as though it were common knowledge.

Italy went over to the oven and turned the dial up to 350 degrees to preheat it. He picked up, one by one, the ingredients he had gathered and handed a different one to each of the men standing in the kitchen. He went to hand the bag of flour to Britain, but found himself setting it in France's hand as he jumped between the two.

"Perhaps it would be best not to rely too heavily on Angleterre with the cooking, oui?" France said, taking the bag of flour, despite the fact that he was already holding a bag of sugar. Britain said nothing, only glared icily at France before shoving him and taking the flour bag.

* * *

><p>Japan brushed a bit of flour from his cheek and turned to the American that had thrown it there.<p>

"America-san, please, we must get this icing ready."

"Aww, c'mon, broha, we got some time, France and the British Dude aren't doing much on their end," America said, as he reached to get the remaining flour off of Japan's face. Japan's grip tightened on the milk carton he was holding as America's soft fingers brushed against his cheek. He hoped that the other man couldn't feel the heat in his face rising.

* * *

><p>Across the kitchen, France and Britain were, indeed, <em>not <em>doing much on their end. Not much that was _productive, _that is.

"I made some perfectly delicious Christmas biscuits, I'll have you know, frog!"

"Sobbing on your kitchen floor and then forcing your desserts down everyone's throats is not what I'd call delicious, black sheep of Europe!"

"I was not sobbing, you wanker! And _I told you not to call me that!_"

* * *

><p>Germany and Italy, however, were being quite productive. That is, Italy was being quite productive and Germany was sitting silently to the side, watching. Germany couldn't help but stare intently at Italy as he bustled around their corner of the kitchen, grabbing different ingredients and measuring them in what seemed like milliseconds. Germany took note of Italy's face as he attempted to pour that perfect amount of milk into a tablespoon. Italy's eyebrows were furrowed, his eyes focused as he tried to fully fill the spoon without it overflowing. Germany found the edges of his mouth curling into a small smile as he saw Italy's tongue, barely poking out of the left side of his mouth, completing his expression of complete concentration. Germany found it immensely sexy when Italy cooked; while he did love Italy's cute whimsy, there was something about this completely different side of him, the focused, concentrated, detail-oriented Italy that he found arousing.<p>

Germany unconsciously licked his lips as Italy poured his final spoonful of milk into the batter and smiled. Germany then realized exactly what he was doing, sitting here, letting himself slip into his homosexual daydreams like a hormonal teenager. He blinked, forcing his mind away from the thoughts consuming his mind. Germany found it even more difficult than before to do this as Italy turned to him and brandished a wooden spoon toward him, flashing him that _stupid giddy smile that was so cute. Damn him. Damn Italy._

"Come on, Germany, you've got to do-a something, too!" Italy said, forcing the spoon into Germany's hand and nodding his head towards the bowl of ingredients, making his curl bounce slightly.

Germany tried harder to usher his thoughts of Italy from his mind as he stepped over to the bowl and began to stir together the ingredients that Italy had placed there. He could feel Italy watching over his shoulder, and even though he couldn't see his face, he was positive that he was still wearing that damn smile. Germany absent-mindedly stirred as his thoughts drifted once again to the country lingering behind him. He decided that he might as well stop trying to keep him out of his thoughts.

Germany couldn't deny that he had feelings for Italy that were deeper than just the friendship that they had started off with. He actually _could _deny it, really, as he had on several times when Austria had interrogated him on such things. What Germany had with Japan was a friendship. But Germany never smiled at little, unimportant things that Japan did. Germany never had the obnoxious, unexplainable urge to be close to Japan. And Germany sure as hell never had this much trouble keeping his mind off Japan.

It got to the point sometimes where Germany was almost angry. Whether it was at himself, or Italy, or whatever, he didn't know. He was just angry. Angry that he had feelings so strong that they eclipsed other _important _things, angry that he was so inexperienced with matters of these kinds of emotions that he couldn't put what he was feeling into words, and angry that he would never be able to tell Italy of any of the things that he felt, even if he could find the words. Of course, finding the words was a physically possible thing. Not an easy one, but a possible one. The biggest problem was that he didn't know how Italy would react. He operated his life with a series of strategic operation. He planned out every cause and every effect. Emotions frustrated Germany so immensely because it wasn't possible to plan them out in the same way that you could with battle strategies. You had to take chances, something that Germany wasn't especially accustomed to. He didn't want to hurt Italy or ruin the friendship that they already had by bringing his romantic intentions into it. And he had resigned himself to the fact by now that _friends _were all that he and Italy would ever be.

Accepting that fact in his head, though, did nothing to prompt his heart to accept it, unfortunately.

Germany was broken from his thoughts when he felt a soft hand brush against his and take the gently take the spoon from his right hand. He looked directly down to see the perfectly mixed batter, and his eyes drifted to his right to see Italy tasting a bit of it from the end of the spoon.

"Mmm, perfetto, Germany!" Italy said as he whisked the bowl away to shape the mixture into spheres of thick batter on the cookie sheet on top of the counter opposite them.

As Germany leaned against the counter, watching Italy assist with the making of the icing after being profusely apologized to about it by Japan, Germany bit the inside of his mouth as he thought.

_I am a mature adult._

_I am capable of controlling my emotions._

_I can compartmentalize._

* * *

><p><em>AN: Good God, what is wrong with me? It's been over a month since I last updated. I'm sorry, I just had a lot of trouble with this chapter. I'll try to get the next one to you sooner. I've figured out that during the day I write 1st grade level sentences, but at 3 am I'm like William Shakespeare. The exact opposite of what you'd think. One of the main reasons why I didn't get this out as soon as I'd have liked is because I kept getting distracted writing other things! I wrote two oneshots while this was just sitting in my computer, half finished... I was also very distracted while writing this, because every time I thought about the APH countries baking, I thought of Romano making breakfast in bed for Spain on his birthday, which was a really distractingly cute thought. I might have to write that... -Amy._


	3. 3 Prank Calls

"Are you sure this is okay to do, Italy?" Japan whispered as he held the phone to his ear, hearing the dial tone coming through.

"It was on the list on Wikipedia, so I guess-a people do it all the time!"

"You cannot believe everything that you read on the Internet, Ita-" he was cut short as the dial tone ended its buzzing and the person on the other end of the line picked up.

"Hello?" a Chinese voice came through the receiver.

"Um… hello…i-is…" Japan stuttered, trying to recall the extremely quick run-through that America had given him a few minutes ago, "Is your refrigerator… jogging?"

America slapped his palm against his face and Britain, France, and Germany just closed their eyes and sighed quietly. Italy cocked his head in confusion.

"Japan, I don't think that was how it was-a supposed to-"

"Japan!?" China asked through the phone, and Japan's eyes went wide, looking around the room at the other countries for some indication of what to do.

"Just hang up, hang up!" America said, grabbing for the phone. Japan quickly hit the button to end the call and then stared at his phone for a few seconds in horror.

"Dude, _running, _you ask them if their refrigerator is _running_."

"I apologize, I have never been exposed to this 'prank calling' before…"

America pulled out his phone with a smirk on his face.

"Okay, lemme show you how it's done," he said, scrolling through his contacts and finally selecting one, putting the phone up to his ear.

"Who are you ringing?" Britain asked.

"Canada," America said with a smile, "Trust me, he'll never see it coming."

"Who-" Germany started to ask.

Suddenly, just as the dial tone on America's phone began, a ringing sounded from the corner of the room. Canada looked down at his phone, then back up at America.

"Yo, Canada, you just get here, bro?" America asked.

"I've been here the whole time."

"Oh… really?"

"You invited me."

"…Did I?"

"I was actually the first one to arrive."

"…You were?"

"I made four batches of cookies when we were in the kitchen."

"_I was wondering how those got there," _Germany thought, _"I didn't think anyone actually did that much work…"_

"Here, Germany, you-a try it!" Italy said, turning toward Germany and smiling.

"Um… I don't…"

Germany would have loved to just sit quietly while everyone else made fools of themselves, but Italy was looking at him with those adorable eyes that just made you melt inside. The longer he looked at them, the harder it was for him to say no to Italy. He would have loved to stare at those eyes until it was absolutely impossible, but after a few moments he, with difficulty, broke eye contact with Italy and pulled out his phone.

He scrolled through his list of contacts, trying to find someone easy. After going through them all several times, he eventually settled on Austria. After giving America a few minutes to put together an acceptable script for the call, Germany hit the call button and put the phone to his ear. The other countries looked at him with anticipation.

"Hello?" Austria answered.

America leaned over to hand Germany a script in his barely legible handwriting. Germany skimmed it quickly before following the first instruction on the page and slipping into a surprisingly impeccable American accent. America was impressed at how authentic it sounded, especially coming from Germany.

"Hello, sir, I'm conducting a survey for the local Classical Music Fan Club, and I'd be grateful if you'd agree to answer some questions for us," Germany cringed when he said _'Classical Music Fan Club' _and shot America a look as if to say, _"Really? That's the best you had?" _America only shrugged.

"I suppose that would be fine, go ahead."

"Thank you very much, sir, now, ahem, first question: w-what color is your refrigerator?" Germany said, the question coming out in a more confused tone of voice than the professional one he had been using before. His eyes shot up to America, who was trying to stifle a laugh.

"_This doesn't even make any sense!" _Germany mouthed to him.

"_That what makes it funny!" _America mouthed back.

"_No it i-" _Germany's silent reply was cut short as Austria spoke.

"What… color is my refrigerator?"

Germany slipped back into the professional American accent, "Yes, that is what I asked, sir."

"It's, um, it's silver, I believe."

"What… shade of silver is it, sir?" Germany said, closing his eyes in exasperation as he spoke.

"How do you describe shades of silver?" Austria asked.

America waved his hand, gesturing for Germany to move onto the next question as he bit his lip to avoid laughing. Judging from the faces of the other countries, America was the only one finding this funny.

Germany looked down at the script and continued to the next question, "Alright, on a scale of one to ten, how often do you use ketchup?" America made a strangled noise as he tried to contain his laughter.

"I don't really use ketchup all that much..."

"By 'use ketchup' I mean for _anything_. French fries, crafts projects…" Germany trailed off as he glared at America and shook his head, indicating that he was not going to continue to read the two pages that America had made up listing ridiculous and impractical uses of ketchup.

Suddenly, the countries were all surprised as they heard Austria burst out laughing on the other end of the line.

"Sir-" Germany began in the American accent.

"No, Germany, stop, no, you're making a fool of yourself…" Austria said through his laughter.

Germany gladly abandoned the accent and regained his normal voice, "Wha- how did you know it was me!?"

"I have caller ID, idiot."

"Why didn't you tell me that in the first place!?"

"That silly accent of your was quite amusing."

Germany sighed before hanging up. His eyes immediately went to America.

"Dude, don't look at me, you're the one who picked him," America said, holding up his hands.

Silence hung in the air for a moment, as Germany stared at America as though he might murder him, and America stared back at Germany, really _not _wanting to be murdered.

Italy eventually broke the silence with his cheerful voice, accompanied by an innocent smile, "So, next on the list..."

* * *

><p><em>AN: I just realized that Germany and Italy are the characters that appear the least in this fanfic. __**This will be a GerIta fic, I swear. **__I promise, there will be a lot more of Italy and Germany and a lot more fluffy happenings in the next few chapters. –Amy._


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